


in the hall of the conquering sun

by kalypsobean



Category: Ancient History RPF, Ancient Macedonian RPF
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	in the hall of the conquering sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexandria (heartfullofelves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/gifts).



Time alone with Alexandros is a precious resource; so rare now that he dares not waste it when they have it, when there are no wars to fight and no emissaries to entertain. On some days it seems as though he barely sees Alexandros at all despite his rank and their friendship, despite being in the same hall, eating the same food and watching the same lieutenants lose themselves in wine long before the sun sets. There are times when he has honestly, secretly, wondered if he would ever have Alexandros alone again. Even when he carves out a moment, stolen in between receptions and conquests, Alexandros isn't always fully present - his mind wanders to the next battlefield, the next conquest, the next dream, and Hephaistion is all but invisible. It's not even that he minds; Alexandros has nobody else to be silent with, and certainly there are but few with whom Alexandros could let his mind wander, his awareness narrow. In that, therefore, Hephaistion gives him something that nobody else can; his place is secure, and his role is important. 

Most of the time, that's enough; a comfort, a reassurance, even if the unease remains, a disquiet sense of sadness, of longing. Sometimes, it is a desperate and not entirely successful attempt at reminding himself that Alexandros still needs him.

***

"I can do this myself."

"I know," Hephaistion says. He doesn't say _you don't have to_ or _but I want to_. He wonders, perhaps, if he should; Alexandros raises his arms and waits, Hephaistion lifts the cuirass and settles it around his chest, then leans in and bends to tie the sides and shoulders in place. Alexandros still smells of dirt and blood, a scent that doesn't ever seem to leave him now, so far from home with so many campaigns in his wake. There might be a weariness there; Hephaistion has to remind Alexandros to drop his arms before he can tie the shoulders, and he was almost suspecting that Alexandros had not yet woken for the lax way he stood. It was almost as if Alexandros was holding himself from swaying, but instead of being too rigid he leaned into the exhaustion, daring it to try to weaken him. His chiton hangs forward and Hephaistion has to be careful to not catch it between plates; he wishes for a moment he could work on the knots he can feel beneath the linen, press his hands against Alexandros' bare skin as if he could reach in and take the worries causing them into himself.

There is a noise behind him, then a heavy footstep; Hephaistion recognises the sound as an ilarches from the clang of iron on bronze, an easy thing when most of the ranks wear thorakes. He can tell Alexandros recognises it as well; by the time the ilarches has lifted the flap and entered the tent, Alexandros is alert and standing straight. Hephaistion tightens the leather ties, taking advantage of the moment so that the cuirass would not fall off should today be the day Alexandros is thrown from Bucephalus or forced low by some unlucky strike. The fragile moment is lost between reports of deserters and summaries of complaints. 

Hephaistion leaves Alexandros with the ilarches and the line of commanders building outside the tent; if they were elsewhere, they would line up in the palace and help themselves to wine and fruits while they waited, but they are here, and Hephaistion is not in the mood to entertain them in the absence of such delights. 

***

It used to be their time, from when they learned at the feet of Aristotle in Mieza to the first time Alexandros sent him on ahead; they might have slept entwined around each other, or have just bathed and oiled the other, or have been hastily rearranging after some physical training - wrestling, sword skills, riding. (Or having engaged in other activities they are now too old to conduct with that same impunity, though their ranks did afford them a similar indulgement if they were circumspect, the likes of which Alexandros was incapable of being). Even if there were others there with them, Alexandros paid mind only to Hephaistion. It was only when they set out and the role of general had been added to Alexandros' list of titles that time became such a scarcity, that one time had led to another until interruption became inevitable and expected, while privacy became a luxury rarely afforded, a privilege earned when the congratulations of a winning campaign petered out but the wanderlust had not yet fully taken hold. And yet, if Alexandros pushed them away and claimed that time as solely his own, if he made his men wait or chose to see them with regard to how long they had been with him or their rank or the nature of their audience, he would not be Alexandros, and Hephaistion would not be so devoted to him.

***

The glamour of Alexandros reflects on Hephaistion like the sun's rays off the moon, and like Selene, he is more visible when Alexandros, his bright and radiant Helios, is absent. As he walks away from Alexandros' tent, some of the men rise to greet him, as they would if Alexandros had been walking alongside him. He grips their arms and listens, making the promises he knows that Alexandros will honour. Some just raise their heads and nod, their hands busy with swords and stones; Hephaistion wishes he could sit alongside them, as if there was nothing more pressing than readying for the next salvo, the next siege, and they were only simple men. But a page comes running, barely old enough to be sent from home, and stumbles over his words as he says that Alexandros is looking for him; Hephaistion has not yet had time to walk through the encampment, but he returns because he must, because he is drawn, because he is needed, and Alexandros is his sun.

"We are going on, Hephaistion," he says, and then he smiles. "We'll wait for you at Rhambacia."


End file.
